Unwilling Night
by Dem0nLight
Summary: She was a Ylissean. She was one of them. She was a woman who dethroned kings and conquerors alike. His own magnificence paled in comparison to hers. There was a world of difference between them. But he still wanted her.
1. Fears

_A/N: As promised, here is my GangrelXRobin fic! Enjoy!_

* * *

The ship rolled under his feet in such a familiar motion that Gangrel nearly forgot himself, leaning over the boat's edge and letting the wind tease his hair. There was nothing in the world quite like being at sea. Even as he relaxed, he waited for the order to get back to work, the harsh words that had always accompanied any moment of peace.

It never came of course: Chrom was a different master than Zanth of the Dread Pirates. He may harbor unpleasant feelings toward Gangrel, but he wasn't fool enough to harm an ally. At their dear prince's prompting, most of the Ylisseans simply ignored him. With Maribelle, this was both blessing and curse.

"Hmph! Look at him! Slacking off-AGAIN! I believe that's the third time today! I can't see why Chrom doesn't simply throw him overboard and be done with him!"

"Chillax, Maribelle," her husband, Henry, said cheerfully, trying to diffuse her sour mood. "He's not hurting anyone."

"That is not the point I was trying to establish!" the blonde noblewoman started, but Brady intervened.

"Ma, just give it a rest. You don' like him, so go somewhere ya can't see him."

Betrayed by both husband and son was too much for her: tossing her hair over her shoulder, she shot one more contemptuous look at the former king and stalked across the deck, descending to the barracks with her nose thrust into the air. Henry chuckled at the sight and Brady rolled his eyes, following her. Gangrel leaned away from the edge, staring up at the crow's nest, taking note that Kellam was on watch (_Probably not the best idea_, he thought. _No one would hear the alarm_). Just above the nest, the blue flag-emblazoned with the Brand-of Ylisse waved.

He really couldn't care less what sail he served under, but working for Ylisse was quite different from any other situation he'd ever encountered: everyone took equal turns at work-even if they were hopeless at it (*cough* Sully, Kjelle, cooking)-and no one held more importance than anyone else; they all served under Chrom, no matter the race, disposition, or history of any member. It was a strange sort of unity, but unity all the same.

Gangrel filled his lungs with clean sea air and turned back to the deck. He wasn't nearly as alone as he'd been lead to think: Henry still rested against the mast, Kjelle trained with a long staff in place of her usual lance, Miriel and Laurent took measurements of something or other, and even as he looked, the Shepherds' young tactician walked out onto the deck.

His crimson eyes met her dark ones for the briefest of moments, then he dropped his gaze. Her name was Nisha, and he was afraid of her. It wan't her tactical skill that frightened him, it was what she had found more recently: a note-written in a moment of weakness-that detailed Gangrel's every regret, what he truly felt under his shield of silence. He knew she had found it, and it worried him that she may tell the Shepherds, tell her beloved commander.

So far, the only move she had made towards him had been to discuss his tasks, and the way she did it was no different than the instructions she gave any of the other people on board. Whatever game she was playing, it was certainly a clever one.

"Gangrel?" she called. He grunted in acknowledgement, and she continued. "You've been assigned to the midnight watch tonight. I thought you would want to know in advance."

"Fine," he mumbled, not looking her in the eye. Nisha nodded, smiling softly before turning her back on him, going back belowdecks. Gangrel leaned back over the ship's edge, ignoring Henry as he approached.

"Man, Mari's all wound up, huh?" he chirped, giving no heed to the scowl directed his way. "That last bit was harsh even for her."

"Not for me," Gangrel muttered. "Little miss Mari Contrary hates my guts. And I hate her back."

"Oooh! Does this mean a death match? Will there be blood?"

Gangrel rolled his eyes. Why was Henry so blasted _likeable_?! Ah well, war makes strange bedfellows, he decided. He looked out to the horizon again as he answered.

"There _would_ be blood...if Nisha hadn't put that ban on killing allies."

"Oh yeah," Henry remembered, sounding heartbroken. "The 'no wizard fights, duels to the death, or assassinations on teammates' rule. Sometimes she's no fun."

"She's you're wife," the red-haired man remarked, changing the topic back to Maribelle. "Wouldn't you be taking her side?"

"Oh yeah," the dark mage realized. "Guess it's good that the rule is there then, huh? I wouldn't wanna take the opposite side against _you_. I'd lose one of the fun people!"

Gangrel scoffed and turned his back on Henry, not letting him see the smile that would not be contained. He'd never met Henry in person as king, just heard of his impressive reputation. Another man sharing Gangrel's love of bloodshed was a rare. Finding such a man among the Ylisseans? Impossible. Or so he'd believed.

"When you talk to your wife next," Gangrel added slyly, changing his smile into a smirk, "tell her she can go die. In a hole."

"What kind of hole?" Henry asked. The smirk grew larger.

"A filthy one, with rats and grime. And she doesn't get to keep that stupid parasol of hers."

Henry laughed and Gangrel snickered to himself. Some things never changed, and he liked it. Just a touch of constant in the chaos, as always.

* * *

_A/N: So the pairings in this fic are from my "Lunatic" difficulty file (casual mode, 'cuz I suck on permanent-death files; it looks like the hunger games happened!). Right now, the only sign of that is in my HenryXMaribelle pairing. Nisha is based off the avatar in that file. Here's her info:_

_Name: Nisha (pronounced nee-sha; Sanskrit origin meaning "night")_

_Appearance: average height (build 1), narrow, peaked eyes (face 2), black ponytail (hair 3, hair color 9)._

_Personality: A tomboyish tactician who will take any challenge directed her way. On rare occasions, she indulges her feminine side but dislikes being treated differently because of her gender. She's not good with handling her emotions at times, but it's not common knowledge._

_Until next time, review if you liked._


	2. Confessions

_A/N: The story had been online for two minutes, and I got a review straight off! Thank you, Wilhelm Wigworthy, for your amazing speed. (And to Gunlord500 & Nobility too, for great motivation!)_

* * *

The air was sticky from humidity, giving it a strange thickness. A few sprinkles of rain flew from the overcast sky, landing on the unwary heads of anyone on deck. Above it all, Gangrel stood in the crow's nest, gripping the wooden handrails so hard his knuckles were white and hurting.

Of all the jobs on this farking boat, the one he most hated was lookout. The crow's nest was over 70 feet above the water, and Gangrel detested heights of any sort. It was an act of extreme willpower for him to complete an entire watch without panicking or getting violently sick. For now he was fine. He just had to keep from looking down. The temptation was particularly fierce today: Nisha was on deck.

Fourty-five agonizing minutes later, he was finally down. _Thank the gods_, he thought as he unobtrusively wiped away a bead of sweat resting on the back of his neck. He should have known better than to show even the tiniest sign of weakness in front of Stahl.

"Something wrong?" the green-clad paladin asked, drawing Nisha's attention. Gangrel scowled and crossed his arms, glaring at the two Ylisseans.

"If there was, why should you care?" he snapped, keeping his eyes on Stahl in an attempt to keep the tactician from entering the conversation. Stahl tilted his head to the side slightly, looking a tad confused.

"You're a shepherd now," he replied, though it sounded like a question. "We all look out for each other."

The former king snorted derisively, and the paladin's frown deepened. He looked ready to say more, but to Gangrel's dismay, Nisha intervened.

"Stahl," she said clearly, touching his arm to get his attention, "why don't you go and get something to eat. Cherche should be done with lunch by now, and she promised to get you an extra large plate, remember?"

At the mention of food, Stahl immediately brightened up and left without another word, despite Gangrel unspoken pleadings for him to stay; he didn't want to be alone with Nisha: the very thought was worse than taking another watch shift. But his silent desires were unheard and ignored, and he was with the tactician, defenseless. When she spoke his name, it took all his willpower not to break eye contact and turn away.

"Gangrel? You're certain you're alright?"

"If anything was wrong, I wouldn't tell any of you blasted Ylisseans, now would I?" he sneered, covering his rather pathetic weakness as best he could. She frowned and folded her arms in disapproval.

"Was it your acrophobia?" she asked. "The height of the crow's nest might have been tall enough..."

"Acrophobia? Where would you get an idea like that?"

"It was in the roster. That book I keep in the barracks? I've been trying to figure out how it works ever since I found it. It magically fills with information on every member of the army, even you. The roster has titled you 'the most hopeless acrophobe' from your entry. And since acrophobia is the fear of heights..."

Blast it all. She knew.

"I'll survive," he snapped. Nisha's brow furrowed and she took a step closer, opening her arms in an almost pleading gesture.

"As tactician, it's my job to make sure the needs of everyone are accommodated. If you can't handle heights, I can find other assignments for you to do."

"I'll survive," Gangrel repeated, turning away to leave. "I've done it before, and I'll do it again."

Nisha's slim but strong fingers gripped his wrist firmly, halting him in his tracks. Not releasing him, the young woman stood before the former king, her eyes steely and determined.

"I don't know how else to say this," she said firmly, "so I'll just say it: You are a member of this army. It does not matter who you were before. You are valuable, and it is my job watch over you just as much as any of the others here. I would never betray any confidence you might place in me. You can tell me anything, and I'd never tell another soul."

Gangrel didn't want to trust her. He didn't want her anywhere near him. He didn't need her "help". She was Ylissean, treacherous to the core, just like they all were. He didn't reply as he wrenched his arm free and stalked belowdecks. Her footsteps followed him to the doorway and he heard her call out something that made him pause.

"I haven't told Chrom, you know!"

The red-haired man peered at Nisha, not fully understanding. She took a deep breath and continued, her voice softer.

"That thing I found? He doesn't know it exists. And he never will." She smiled, raising her arm and tapping the back of her right hand. "I swear it on the eyes of Grima. You're little...secret is safe with me."

Gangrel's lips curled first into a snarl, then into a bitter smirk.

"You think I'll trust you? Just because you can claim nobility? Hah!" he spat. "Keep your so called 'kindness' to yourself. Its never done me any good."

Nisha's smiled faded, replaced by a ponderous look. Gangrel's scowl returned and he disappeared down into the depths of the ship, desperate to get away from her.

He knew she had to be lying. No Ylissean would ever relinquish any advantage they had over their enemies; it was their way, witnessed by the very blood of numberless Plegians. Gangrel could not allow himself the privilege of weakness anymore: the moment he had no use, they would cast him out to rot. He was forever alone, cursed by the blood running through his veins and the crown on his brow.

Gangrel was content to be the Mad King of Plegia, unseen and unheard. He was just another sword to add to this Ylissean cause, a cause he didn't believe in. Nothing he did mattered, so the tactician needn't bother with false friendliness. Only alone he could remain unharmed.

* * *

_So far, I've been told this story is really good, but there's a lot of conflicting motivations and emotions in Gangrel's character at this point, so it's tricky to write. Hopefully as he adjusts to his Shepherd life, the chapters will be more upbeat and feature more of Gangrel's sass. (FINGERS CROSSED!)_

_Until next time, review if you liked!_


	3. Changes

_A/N: Thanks again for the __reviews! Happy late B-day to Dreamflight4798!_

_So I tried to add more of Gangrel's sarcasm and sass in this chapter, but it's a lot harder to write than I anticipated. (please don't flame me; I'm trying my best)_

* * *

Henry stumbled around dizzily, giggling as went. Behind him, Maribelle was faring no better, though she tried to keep her dignity-and failed when she tripped over her own boots. Henry finally collapsed to the ground laughing manically, much to his wife's disapproval and son's embarrassment. As all the Shepherds tried-and failed-to walk in straight lines, Gangrel alone kept his coordination.

When he'd been a slave to Pirates, such behavior would have indicated drunkenness on behalf of the entire crew. Not so with the Ylissean League: they were just having trouble regaining their land legs after two weeks at sea.

It was quite pathetic, which made it even funnier.

As Lissa performed a remarkable impersonation of Sumia's famous falls, Gangrel laughed mockingly. The blonde girl glared up at him from the ground vehemently.

"Oh, I'll get you for that later!" she hissed, sitting up and brushing dirt off her yellow skirt. Her rage-like that of a kitten-wasn't even remotely frightening; it just made Gangrel laugh louder.

"Really, princess?" he sneered, enjoying her embarrassment. "You would waste your oh-so-precious time on _me_? I'm _flattered_."

The moment of smug satisfaction was cut short as someone crashed into him, sending Gangrel tumbling to the ground. Rising to one knee, the former king searched for the clumsy oaf who had dared to knock him over while in the middle of something. He scowled when he saw the verdant green armor, knowing it was Stahl sprawled on the ground. Any thought of recompense was halted as Nisha ran over, extending her hand to Stahl, who took it and stood.

"I must say, that's the worst fall I've seen today. Well," she corrected herself, glancing over at Henry, who was still rolling on the ground, shaking with mirth, "I should say second worst. I think he's going to hurt himself if he keeps that up."

Realizing that Stahl had not been the only one affected by the bout of clumsiness, Nisha approached Gangrel, offering a helping hand. He promptly ignored it and got up unassisted.

"Oh man, I'm sorry," Stahl apologized. "The ground felt like it was swaying and I lost my balance. I didn't mean to crash into anybody..."

"Speaking of balance," Nisha interjected, "how are you keeping yours, Gangrel? Everyone else has stumbled or fallen at least once, but not you. Why is that?"

"Sorry," Gangrel said nonchalantly, brushing past the tactician as fast as he was able. "I won't be sharing that little secret with you Ylisseans."

Gangrel continued to walk past Shepherds, ignoring them all except for the occasional bark of mirthless laughter at their expense. Once free of the main group, he rested on a grassy knoll, watching the Ylissean League from a distance. Breathing deeply, he relaxed the tension in his shoulders.

Blasted tactician. Always getting in the way of things. He watched her, noticing that she too was affected by the sudden change from sea to land, though not as severely as some of the others. As Nisha made her way over to her beloved princeling, Gangrel looked up, watching the clouds lazily float by. How annoying; Gangrel preferred days when the clouds were little more than whips of white on the blue expanse of sky, swirling in miniature wind storms. Or better yet, during the wild chaos of a thunderstorm. Of course, he hadn't seen many of these beautiful storms in his lifetime, which made them all the more fascinating.

"Gangrel!"

The red haired man snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of his name. He scowled at Frederick as the Great Knight relayed that he had been selected to go further inland on the island, looking for any signs of civilization. Oh, how exciting. NOT.

The twenty minute march-in the forced company of fourteen Ylissenas-was entirely uneventful, as were the successive fifteen minutes of waiting for the village elder to bring the oh-so-interesting "mystery girl". Sure, there were more spectacular falls worthy of his attentions, but it was the ceaseless mixture of idle chatter and complaints that really grated on his thin nerves.

_Gods!_ he thought as Lissa fell for the third time in a row, moaning about her scraped hands. _These blasted Ylisseans are trying to annoy me, aren't they? If one of them says so much as a single word after this..._

His mental threat was silenced when he saw the village elder returning, a blonde woman in tow. Gangrel could feel the blood draining from his face as he recognized her, a deep sense of mixed guilt and dread settling into his stomach.

Someone else had escaped the clutches of death.

* * *

Of _course _the first thing her radiance would do is run off and sacrifice herself to the Grimleal. Her blatant idiocy was truly astounding at times.

As another Grimleal dark flier died under the levin sword's brutal lightning, Gangrel couldn't help but glance up at the hills where Emmeryn stood, silently watching the proceedings of the battle. He felt a twist of regret as he watched her, feeling the full effects of his deeds toward her with new agony.

"Gangrel!"

His head snapped forward and he saw an arrow flying straight at him. Even if he tried, he couldn't dodge it; it was too close.

Gangrel pitched forward as someone rammed into him, pushing him out of the deadly projectile's path. As the bow knight who'd dare shoot at him burned under the lighting strike of his sword, Gangrel turned to see who had saved him. It should not have come as a surprise that it was none other than Nisha.

He waited for the scolding, the harsh words that were sure to follow a mistake such as that. They never came. Instead, Nisha sighed in relief and gave a half-smile.

"Let's not do that again, okay?" was all she said.

For once in his life, Gangrel was speechless. His life had just been saved by a Ylissean, and there hadn't been one moment of smugness from her at all, no superiority. Nisha's smile widened for a moment before her attention was stolen by approaching Grimleal reinforcements. As she studied the enemy's advance, Gangrel noticed something else: the sleeve of her cloak torn at the shoulder, the all-too-familiar shade of crimson peeking through the hole. She was bleeding. For him.

"Think you can take out that Griffon Rider?" she asked, pointing at the beast rider in question. Gangrel looked and laughed once, some of his humor returning as the shock wore off.

"Just try keeping up with my bodycount," was his only reply. Together, Plegian and Ylissean threw themselves back into the fray, side by side.


	4. Assistance

_A/N: Awww! Thanks Skye, Twi, and Persian! It's nice of you to compliment this so generously. Here's the next chapter for y'all! This skips forward in time, so the Shepherds have crossed Valm and reached the Wellspring of Truth._

_Enjoy! :D_

* * *

"So, tactician, what tricky little plans have you got brewing in that head of yours today?" Gangrel asked slyly as Nisha attempted to read a map and walk at the same time. She looked up for the briefest of moments, a small frown creasing her brow.

"...but, if we make that detour," she murmured, her focus sliding back to the paper, "it will detract from our return time, and then there's morale to think about..."

Gangrel snorted, a bit miffed that she was ignoring him. As if summoned by his irritation, the blue-haired princeling chose that exact moment to arrive and question her about the day's route.

"I'm just don't know, Chrom," Nisha sighed, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face. "If we go along the highway, it'll be faster, but with a company of our size, that's just asking for trouble. But any other route we take would take too long!"

Gangrel slid up to the frustrated tactician and peered over her shoulder at the map, much to Chrom's annoyance. The former king studied the worn parchment for a long while before breaking the silence.

"There's this trail here," Gangrel commented, tracing the path lightly. "It cuts across the empty country faster than the other roads, leads right to a town. What more could you ask for?"

"It's too close to the Wellspring of Truth," Chrom stated flatly, glaring at him. "I don't want to be within a mile of that place." Gangrel noticed the Ylissean placing his hand on Falchion's hilt and surreptitiously did the same to his own weapon. Nisha didn't see the exchange, and looked over the route, her face unreadable.

"He does have a point, Chrom," Nisha finally said, ignoring the look of fury directed at her. "With some minor adjusting of the march speed and schedule, we could go right past the spring without needing to stop anywhere nearby. I still don't get what you problem is with the Wellspring of Truth, though."

"The waters of the spring supposedly reflects one's true self," Chrom said tersely. "And some of the true selves of this army are not something that need to be seen."

It was not lost on anyone present that he glared directly at the Mad King as he said it. Gangrel smirked at the blue-haired man and gestured to himself.

"Are you saying that you don't want to see my amazing personality in all its glory? Oh, I'm _wounded_, dear Prince. I may never recover from this."

"I liked you better when you were dead," Chrom snapped. Gangrel laughed loudly.

"So did I."

"Alright, I'm drawing the line there," Nisha announced, closing the map and interrupting whatever retort Chrom had been preparing to make. "Insult one another again and I swear I will send you out to fight risen _alone_. You're both adults, so start acting like it! I'm going to draw up the route, and when we march I expect you to treat one another with respect, or at least ignore each other. Am I understood?"

"Of course," Gangrel answered without hesitation. Chrom folded his arms and looked away, maintaining the countenance of a sulky child. Nisha raised an eyebrow at him, and he finally mumbled a half-hearted, "Fine."

"Good," she said firmly. "I'll hold you both to it. I'll be in my tent if you need anything."

As the tactician left, Gangrel smirked at the Ylissean ruler. He recieved a glare in return.

* * *

"...I may have seen Aversa."

Of all the things Nisha could've said, that was the one Gangrel was least expecting. Aversa? In Valm?

"...You MAY have?" Chrom repeated, unknowingly echoing Gangrel's thoughts.

"She seemed...odd somehow," Nisha said slowly, uncertain. "She said I should give chase to learn the truth."

"If Aversa told you that, it isn't worth anything," the former king commented. Chrom shot him a glare-_my, so many today_, Gangrel thought-before returning his attention to his tactician.

"If she's alive, she could be spreading more of her venom across the land. Perhaps it's best if we made certain."

Gangrel began to remind the princeling that he had wanted to _avoid_ the spring just a few hours ago, but caught Nisha's glance and shut his mouth. As the shepherds advanced into the ruins, Gangrel sidled over to the tactician, who ignored him as she selected troops and passed out weapons. When she finished, she turned back around to face him.

"You wanna partner with me?" she asked and Gangrel raised his eyebrow and smirked.

"Again? If we keep this pattern up, your lovely Shepherd friends will think my motives may not be entirely innocent."

"And that is when I will tell them that I keep my friends close and my enemies closer," she replied smartly. Gangrel threw his head back and laughed.

"Oh, your sharp tongue never fails to disappoint," he chortled, making her smile as well. "It's a wonder that you even need a blade. Bwahahaha!"

Nisha rolled her eyes, still grinning. As she took her place at the head of the army, Gangrel waited in the back, pretending to adjust his weaponry as he swiped an extra concoction from an unsuspecting Donnel. He was securing the healing potion to his belt when he heard a gasp.

"Gods above..."

When he looked up, Gangrel could do nothing but agree: on the other side of the ruins stood another army, each member identical to the Shepherds, clad in red armor and holding different weapons. And there, in the back, Gangrel could see his own face, twisted into a sickeningly gleeful smile.

"Nisha..." Chrom said, clearly alarmed, "what's the plan?"

The dark-haired tactician studied her living reflection for a long moment. Then she shrugged.

"Pick someone you know how to beat," she suggested. "And don't die."

"I'm all for it!" Gaius crowed, vanishing deeper into the ruins without further prompting. As the Shepherds dispersed themselves, Gangrel stood close behind Nisha, his Levin sword drawn and ready, his deep red eyes scanning their surroundings for any sign of attack. Suddenly, Frederick burst free of a tight corner, baring down on them with incredible speed. Gangrel had just enough time to register that the horse's armor was red rather than blue before he dragged Nisha out of harm's way.

"Heh, so close," he muttered, mostly to himself. Nisha freed herself from his grasp and pointed at the fake Great Knight, blue flames wreathing her cloak as she used her Ignis skill.

"You're finished!" she cried, her Bolganone spell cooking the fake Frederick in his armor. The Mad King snorted and pretended not to be impressed and received a punch on the arm as a reward. As Nisha ran farther into the ruins, Gangrel trailed behind, keeping his eyes open for a particular enemy. As he passed a small nook, he paused a moment, considering the place for a moment. Shaking himself, he took a single step forward.

He got no farther: even as he moved, cold metal bit into the skin of his throat. Had he hesitated one second longer, the blade would have sliced open his jugular. As it was, the injury was only skin-deep. Didn't stop it from hurting though.

As he swore viciously, Gangrel turned back to his new enemy and was not surprised to see his own face leering back at him.

"Oh come now," his reflection mocked, "is that really the best you can do? A few filthy words? I am wholly underwhelmed."

"Bring it on, dastard," Gangrel challenged. "I wonder how underwhelmed you'll be when I cut you to pieces."

Nothing more needed to be said: they flew at each other, their swords connecting an a shower of sparks. They wrestled for leverage for a moment, before the silver sword proved stronger and turned aside the Levin sword with less effort. Backpedaling, Gangrel dodged several wild swipes, growling as one landed on his unshielded forearm. As he got in close again, Gangrel used the Levin sword's magic to send a shock up the silver blade. His reflection dropped the sword instantly, but as he moved to land the final blow, he felt a sudden burning sensation on his wrist. The surprise cause him to drop his blade and left him defenseless against the long knife his reflection wielded.

"Time to die," the other fake Gangrel snarled. "And you know that I won't make it quick."

The slice on the wrist was quickly followed by other quick and painful slashes, across Gangrel's face, his arms, his torso. Then, his reflection took the knife in both hands and plunged it into his gut. The sudden addition to his pain was too much, and the red-haired man fell to his knees, clutching the bleeding wound. He didn't even need to look up to know that the faker was raising the knife for the killing blow.

_And so it ends_, Gangrel thought, closing his eyes and waiting for merciful death.

It never came: a shadow crossed over him and he heard the clang of metal on metal. He looked up and saw a familiar shape, wrapped in an overlarge cloak, a black ponytail barely visible.

"Back off," Nisha hissed, her sword drawn.

His reflection whirled around to pick up the silver sword, Gangrel gathered what strength he had and lunged forward, seizing the discarded Levin sword as he went. As the fake Gangrel turned back around, the real man took his blade with both hands and used the force of his run to drive the twisted metal into his enemy's torso, ignoring his pain.

The fake gasped softly at the injury, slowly slumping as the life left its body. Gangrel released the sword handle, letting his opponent sink to the ground, collapsing a moment later himself. He felt strong arms catch him as he fell, and laid limply in their grasp as he was dragged away. Once he was propped against a nearby wall, he could see that it had been Nisha who had helped him. He smiled bitterly as his injuries throbbed in protest of the movement.

"I now see...why I'm alive," he muttered through bloody lips. "I'm...blasted hard to kill."

"Shhh," Nisha told him. "Don't talk right now. You're hurt badly."

This elicited a laugh from Gangrel, albeit a painful one.

"What was your first clue, genius?" he scoffed. "The blood?"

"Shut up," Nisha snapped, freeing the concoction he'd stolen earlier from his belt and uncorking it. "And drink this."

The Pegian scowled, but obeyed, coughing weakly at the bitter flavor. He handed the clay pot back to the tactician, who took it and put it somewhere in the depths of her cloak. The woman then knelt next to him and slung one of his arms around her shoulders, helping him stand.

"Let's go find Lissa," she suggested. "She can patch you up."

Gangrel released a noncommittal grunt and staggered after her. As they walked, his wounds continued to drip blood, though the rate had slowed. Nisha ignored the red liquid as it spread on both her skin and cloak, not so much as glancing at the man she assisted. Gangrel suddenly stopped, struck by a question.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked as Nisha tugged him back into a walk. "No one else would've thought twice about leaving me to die. And don't you even _think_ of that stupid 'because you're a Shepherd now' answer."

Nisha closed her mouth, clearly having been ready to give that exact reply. She thought about it a moment and shrugged, which made Gangrel hiss in pain.

"I'm not really sure. I guess...finding that note was what really convinced me you needed a second chance. Every word was honest regret, and I'm not heartless enough to let a man so desperate just die."

"I don't want your pity," he spat. Nisha rolled her eyes and answered just as sharply.

"Want it or not, you're gettin' it. And my 'pity' just saved your life. _Again_."

Silence fell between them, twisted and bitter. Gangrel kept his eyes turned to the ground as they continued. Nisha sighed after a strained moment, slowing her brisk walk a fraction.

"Look," she said quietly, "I'll say this once: you've done terrible things. You probably _don't_ deserve the chances I've given you. But, part of being human is making mistakes, and I can't judge you for making bigger mistakes than mine. Hate me if you want, but my only motive is to help you. And I tell you now: I _won't_ just turn my back on you because no one else believes in you. I saw your regrets. I know how much living must torture you. But I won't let you give up on life just yet; you've got an oath to fulfill, and I'll see you through it. I don't expect you to trust me, but I swear all I say on the eyes of Grima."

Her voice was firm, decided. Gangrel knew the moment he heard those words that there was no convincing her. He snorted derisively as they came into a large open area by the Wellspring of Truth. The Shepherds were already congregated there, and Lissa rushed over, staff in hand, the instant she saw them.

The the Princess tended to his injures, Nisha walked away without looking back. As he watched her retreating figure, he felt an unfamiliar urge bubble up inside him, insistent and irrepressible.

"Nisha?"

The tactician turned at his call, raising an eyebrow. Gangrel struggled to force the words out for a moment, but finally, he managed to say it.

"Thanks. For what you said. And did. I owe you now."

Nisha blinked, clearly caught of guard, but she recovered quickly, smiling brilliantly.

"The honor is all mine," she replied, bowing slightly at the waist. Gangrel allowed himself a small grin, but it vanished as he yelped in pain.

"Blast it, Ylissean!" he snarled, jerking his arm away from Lissa. "If you can't just heal me without hurting me, then get away!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he could've sworn that he saw Nisha's shoulders shaking from laughter.

* * *

_A/N: Ohmygoshthischapterhasahugewordcount._

_Ahem. Sorry. But this is certainly the longest thing I've ever written in one sitting. (well, aside from essays on an essay test) Because of the length, the details might get a little muddled in the middle, so just let me know if you think of specific ways I can improve it._

_Review if you liked! May the Fourth be with you!_


	5. Dinner Conversation

_A/N: Holy crow. I'm almost afraid of how popular this has gotten. (Excuse me as I faint from both delight and anxiety) 20 Follows so far..._

_In other news, further updates might be postponed for the rest of the month (its May; what did I expect? Stuff just all happens at once) because I hardly have enough time to sleep anymore, much less writing. I extend my thanks to Akage987 for the review and say now that I hope this new chapter lives up to its expectations._

* * *

The dinner bell resounded through camp, calling the army in to eat. Gangrel almost dropped his practice blade in relief: Frederick was a hard trainer, and the throbbing spots on the Mad King's body would turn to painful bruises come morning. But he maintained his casual stance, as if he didn't mind a little exercise.

Like most of the other solders, he stopped by the water barrel before returning to camp. Unlike the other soldiers, however, he did not splash water onto his face to clean away the sweat and cool his feverish skin. Instead he drank several mouthfuls, not letting a single precious drop escape. there would be water in the mess tent, he knew, but as a Plegian, Gangrel had gotten into the habit of ensuring that he was always hydrated; he hated watching the imbecile Ylisseans waste such a precious resource for something as frivolous as washing away dirt that would only be back in a matter of hours.

When his thirst was quenched, he strolled into camp, ducking inside of the mess tent when he came to it. A line had already formed, and Gangrel reluctantly stood in the back, peering over the other's heads to see who was serving the food.

"Thank the gods," he muttered, seeing that it was Libra's turn to cook, meaning the former king probably wouldn't keel over from food poisoning later. "Finally, someone _competent_. Maybe I can finally forget last night's-"

"Excuse me?"

Gangrel turned to see that Panne had entered the tent. The taguel had folded her arms as she studied him with disapproval.

"I believe you were about to make a comment about my cooking skill, man-spawn," Panne said bluntly, her dark eyes narrow.

"If you can call it that," Gangrel muttered, knowing full well that she could hear him with those sensitive ears. Panne's eyes narrowed even further, threatening, but he continued, unperturbed. "Pickled turnips over wild rice is not dinner, it is _disgusting_."

In truth, it probably wasn't Panne's fault at all: supplies were running low and good meals were becoming a game of chance as the cooks had to get a little creative. But-at fault or not-Gangrel loved the chance to annoy the Ylisseans; it was almost as fun as fighting them.

As the taguel was about to snap back, Gangrel made a quick escape, seizing his food and seating himself at one of the long tables spread across the tent. As usual, he sat alone, waiting for the table to fill around him. As he picked halfheartedly at his bread, Nisha walked into the tent, Stahl trailing after her. Tactician and paladin joined the Mad King where he sat, to both his surprise and annoyance.

"I hope there's seconds," Stahl commented as he tore into his food with eagar haste. Nisha rolled her eyes and pulled out a tactics book from under her cloak, flipping through its pages before she found her place. As her eyes darted over the words, Stahl began to chatter to her. The other man's cheerful disposition only proved to further irritate the Mad King, who stood up to leave.

"Where are you going?" Nisha asked, not even glancing from her book. Stahl paused in his eating to look up at Gangrel, silently pressing him to answer. The plegian shrugged and tried to walk away, but was halted as the tactician seized the back of his shirt.

"Sit back down," she ordered, closing her tactics book with a heavy thump. Gangrel scowled, but she did not let go, turning to face him, her dark eyes serious. The battle of wills lasted for another long moment before Gangrel gave in, sitting back down with a huff.

"Your lonely enough without seeking solitude," Nisha sighed. "I can't see why you do this to yourself."

"Did you ever think that I'd just like to be left alone, tactician?" Gangrel snapped. "Gods, if you don't get insufferable sometimes..."

"Being insufferable is my job," Nisha replied, the quaver her voice betraying her desire to laugh. Stahl was not nearly so successful at hiding it and chuckled once. Gangrel immediately too the opportunity to attack.

"Did I just hear a bear choking?" he asked sarcastically, making a show of looking around the room. This was too much for the young paladin, who promptly dissolved into laughter, contrary to Mad King's wish and intensifying his bitter mood. Nisha bit her lip, her shoulders shaking until she could not resist any longer and joined in the humor. Suddenly, Gangrel felt his mood lift and bit the inside of his cheek to suppress a grin.

_Strange_, he thought, once the initial desire to smile faded. Stahl's laugh was irritating enough to goad the Mad King into dismembering him, but _hers_...

"Oh man," Stahl gasped, struggling to end his laugh attack. "Sorry, but-" he was lost to another wave of laughter. "Oh man!"

Nisha giggled once, placing her hand on the paladin's armored shoulder to steady him as he nearly fell from his seat. "Maybe you should go get some water and calm down," she suggested. Unable to answer properly, Stahl stood up and left, his half-contained merriment still sounding clearly among the chatter of the other Shepherds. Nisha chuckled to herself again, turning back to her half-finished supper.

Gangrel scowled to himself. Why did she pay attention to that Ylissean when he was right here? She had insisted he stay, so he had. But as soon as Stahl-that young klutz, that _boy_-left, she was absorbed by the menial task of eating. His logical side-the smallest portion of his being-went so far as to say that she had been in the Shepherd's friendly company far longer than his own, and was only to be expected. It didn't subdue the stab of hatred towards the paladin in question, however; it was almost as if a beast had awakened inside him, angry and ready to devour Stahl whole.

"Well, that was refreshing," Nisha said, turning to smile at him.

"Is there a single muscle on my face that betrays happiness?" Gangrel deadpanned. Nisha studied him seriously. Too seriously. This time, Gangrel couldn't resist grinning. Nisha laughed once and smacked her palm against the table in triumph.

"There!" she declared. She smiled again, cocking her head to the side. But of course, Gangrel just had to get the last word in.

"Your flawless stratagem succeeds once again. I bow to your superior wisdom," he said, giving a overdramatic bow. Nisha snickered and accepted his words with equal verve. Neither of them noticed Stahl standing against the tent wall, watching it all with wide eyes.

* * *

_A/N: ...and DONE! I should probably mention that Stahl had his C rank conversation with Sully, so the bear comment was a direct link to earlier. Another one of my bad attempts to add humor._

_Thanks for reading! Leave a review if you want! I'll be back after exams!_


	6. Injury

_More thanks and love to Akage978!_

_Enjoy! :D_

* * *

Gangrel's usual smile grew wider as he leaned back against the thick trunk of a lone tree. Really, she thought she could sneak up on _him_?

"You know, sweetheart," he said clearly, stifling laughter, "if you're trying to hex someone, you should at least _attempt_ to be quiet."

"How did you know?" a gloomy voice asked in a flat monotone, no trace of shame in the words. Gangrel loosed a bark of laughter.

"Grimleal stealth is an oxymoron," he snickered. "You're all so predictable! Hiding behind doors, creeping through alleys, standing in the back of crowds, they're the tactics of cowards, time tested by the Grimleal. To get through to me would take more creativity than your twisted mind is capable of."

"If you didn't bother Nisha so much," Tharja grumbled from behind the tree, "then I wouldn't be tempted to curse you."

"Ah, the standard excuse of the weak. How I've missed it!"

The dark mage finally came out of her hiding place, her dark tome clutched to her chest, glaring from under her bangs with narrowed dark eyes.

"I liked you better when the very sight of Nisha made you quiver with fear."

Gangrel's smile vanished as his mood soured. He glared at the small woman, one hand curing around the hilt of his knife. Unperturbed, Tharja smirked. That did it.

Pulling the short steel blade free of its restraints, Gangrel flipped his knife once in the air before rising to a crouch, lightly touching it to her unprotected throat. Tharja froze, her eyes widening. His smile returned, cold and sadistic now.

"One day, that tongue of yours will cost you much," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. "Pray to whatever gods you will that when that time comes, it's not me who demands payment. I have a reputation for making these things last _so_ much longer than necessary."

Gangrel quickly re-sheathed the knife as Nisha came out of the field of tents that was the Shepherds' camp and asked what Tharja was doing. The dark mage trotted over to her mistress' side. She wouldn't tell, Gangrel knew: her pride bound her tongue tighter than any knot. If the Grimleal could be counted on for one thing, it was their ability to stay silent.

As the women spoke quietly, Thaja shot him a dark look that said "I'll get you later." This drew Nisha's attention and she stared at him quizzically. Gangrel shrugged, faking boredom, though he couldn't fully contain his superior smirk. This earned him an eye-roll from the tactician, who turned her back and vanished back into the camp

At long last, Gangrel was finally alone. The sun had been bright all morning and the afternoon was sweltering. Well, sweltering by Ylissean standards; this heat was nowhere near the intensity of a Plegian summer day. The former king enjoyed the warmth, closing his eyes, thankful for the solitude.

"Don't let Maribelle catch you doing that."

Gangrel turned around and saw Stahl guiding his horse from the temporary paddock. The verdant paladin paused a moment to adjust the saddle, turning away as Gangrel leaned back against the tree.

"If Maribelle had the courage to even come find me," the Mad King drawled, "she certainly wouldn't dare pass judgement, not with Nisha backing me."

"What makes you so sure that Nisha would side with you?" Stahl asked, still not looking up from his mount's equipment. Gangrel's eyes narrowed. Before he could ask the young Shepherd what he meant, the roar of a dragon was heard through the camp. Nah-in her dragon form-came flying into camp, shouting "Risen! Risen!"

Both men looked at each other at the exact same time.

"Bet I can kill more risen than you," Stahl challenged.

* * *

_"_Blargh!" the entombed cried. Gangrel laughed.

"Oh, are you trying to be _scary_? Well I _hate_ to be the bearer of bad news," the red-haired man sneered, "but any threat you posed was left in your grave. If you go back, maybe you could find it. Here, I'll _help_ you."

If the entombed could have given an articulate comment, it would have been "Oh crap." The silver blade in Gangrel's grasp tore easily through the risen's flimsy body, turning the creature into dark fumes. The Mad King laughed as it disappeared, lunging at the next undead creature eagerly.

Risen were so easy to kill. And fun! As more risen evaporated into smoke, Gangrel stole a glance over his shoulder at Stahl riding his white horse, cutting down his enemies with relative ease. He wondered for a moment how many kills the boy had, before he was distracted again by the battle.

It was afternoon by the time the fighting slowed. At this point, Gangrel had killed roughly thirty risen. He was certain that he'd killed more than Stahl, but there was no real way to be sure with the battle still raging. The Mad King paused for a moment, scanning the horizon to find any more of the undead creatures. He only saw one, and it was fighting Nisha, so he didn't even bother starting towards her; she could handle it, he knew.

But what happened next was so surprising that all thoughts left Gangrel's mind and he just watched, dumbfounded: as the dead berserker charge, axe held high over its head, Nisha had moved as if to dodge, but something went wrong and she stumbled. Defenseless, she had raised her blade to attempt halting the blow, but was unable to stop the deadly axe's path. The world froze as the sharp metal pierced her skin, sending a trail of blood following the continued arc of the heavy blade.

The next few seconds were a little blurry in Gangrel's mind. He remembered running towards the falling tactician, racing Stahl to get there and kill the risen first, but he didn't actually remember reaching Nisha's side, nor dropping his blade somewhere along the way.

Both Gangrel and Stahl knelt beside her, looking her over for wounds. As usual, she was mostly untouched. There was just a gaping slash in her midsection to worry about.

"Oh man..." Stahl paled a little as he saw the injury. "Nisha, you still with us?"

"Ow," the tactician said in reply, sounding a little surprised. "He got me. That _really_ hurts."

"Of course it hurts!" Gangrel snapped, anger breaking though his shock. "You were just gutted with an axe!"

Nisha winced at his loud voice, her brow furrowing in pain. Scowling-and muttering some choice words under his breath-Gangrel withdrew his physic staff. As he checked the cut, trying to determine how much he could actually help, the young paladin stood and watched silently, shifting from foot to foot in an anxious manner. This did not help Gangrel's concentration in the slightest, only irritating him at a moment when he needed to be calm.

"By the gods, will you stop hovering, boy?!" the red-haired plegian snapped, unable to rein in his temper any longer. "I cant focus when you're standing there!"

"Well what else am I supposed to do?" Stahl asked, throwing his arms open wide in a helpless gesture. Gangrel's scowl deepened and he pointed back over the field.

"Go kill the leftover risen," he hissed. "I can't very well protect her when I'm using a healing staff."

Surprisingly, Stahl didn't argue; he just mounted his horse, drew his sword, and galloped away. Gangrel was far too irritated to be grateful-pah, as if he could ever possibly grateful to that _child_-and returned his attentions to Nisha. He was concerned about the depth of the injury, unable to see any better with her cloak and shirt in the way. As blood continued to seep onto the grass, he finally reached his conclusion.

"I can't heal this all the way, not with this thing," Gangrel held up the physic staff as he spoke. Nisha nodded once, her jaw clenched tight from the pain.

"This...this is why..." she gasped, "why I wanted you..to get more staff practice!"

"Duly noted," Gangrel replied. "I'll do what I can, but you'll need a stronger healer back in camp to fully recover."

Nisha nodded again and Gangrel raised the staff, the magic slowing the bleeding of the gaping wound, though it did not close completely. The tactician's grimace faded some, but her hands were still twisted into fists. She relaxed a little as the healing slowed and stopped, a look of fatigue crossing her features.

"I'm...not sure I can get up," she admitted. Gangrel snorted.

"Of course. Just one more thing for me to do."

Despite his complaining, the Mad King didn't hesitate to slide his arms under her and pick her up. He staggered under the new weight for a moment before regaining his balance. As he walked, Nisha closed her eyes, her breathing deepening as she fell unconscious.

If it had been anyone else, he would've left them lying in the field, a job for someone else to do. If it were anyone else, he'd have slung them over his shoulder to carry them instead of carefully in his arms. So why didn't he treat her the same he wondered. Why had he gotten so worried in the first place?

_It can't be loyalty_, he mused. _She's Ylissean after all and I'd never do a thing for those dastards._

_But she's different_, another part of him whispered. _She hasn't told anyone about your moment of weakness, and she's watched your back on the battlefield plenty of times._

_She just wants to keep me indebted to her, so that I'll do something like this for her to pay her back._

_Then why aren't you complaining about it?_

_Shut up_, he told himself. _Stop thinking. I'm repaying her, ugh, kindness. Nothing more._

As he came into camp, he was snapped out of his reverie by the shocked cries of the Shepherds.

"Nisha!" Lissa yelled, running to the forefront of the gathering crowd. "Oh gods, is she all right?"

"She's not dying," Gangrel snapped, "but she's blasted close! Where's the medical tent?"

The princess snapped out of her panic, clearing a path through the throng to one of the larger tents. As he passed by the Shepherds, he heard whispers flying between them, catching half-sentences.

"...he did that?"

"...not healed..."

"...misunderstanding, I'm sure..."

Ignoring them all, Gangrel entered the healers' tent, laying the bloodied tactician on one of the cots. The moment she was laid down, Libra came over, checking the wound. The plegian man moved out of the priest's way, sitting against the tent wall. His arms, chest and hands were drenched in her blood, but he didn't feel disgust in the slightest. Alright, he was a little disgusted, but he was mostly concerned about the amount of blood she'd lost.

To say that Gangrel had seen his fair share of battle would have been an understatement; he'd seen hardly anything but blood and death since he was a teenager. As both foot soldier and King, he'd watched countless Plegians fall dead from wounds similar to the one Nisha had suffered. Just as before, he was powerless to do much more than watch as a life bled away despite his healing. If the tactician died, he knew that not even the gods themselves could save him from the wrath of the Ylissean League. If Nisha didn't survive...

He wasn't sure how long he'd sat there, observing the drying bloodstains, but he was brought out of his morbid thoughts when he heard Nisha groan. Standing, he stood by the edge of her cot, watching her dark eyes flutter open.

"Wha-?" she tried to ask before she gave in to a bout of coughing. Libra came back with a cup of water and helped the tactician drink, vanishing back into the tent when she was done. Nisha swallowed before she tried to speak again.

"Did...did you carry me all the way here?" she asked. Gangrel rolled his eyes.

"Do you have to ask?" he said in response, gesturing to his bloodied torso. This drew a smile out of her and she struggled to sit up, finally making do with propping herself up on her elbows.

"Then I have nothing to say but thank you." She cocked her head at him, her smile widening. "And say sorry for spilling so much of my blood on you; it's just terrible of me, isn't it?"

"Absolutely shameful," Gangrel agreed, smirking. He was about to add more, but he was unceremoniously shoved out of the way by a blur of dark green. An annoyingly familiar shade of green, incidentally.

"Nisha!" Stahl cried. "Thank the gods you're okay!"

"Yes," she laughed. "Thanks to the gods-and a well-placed madman-I'll live to see another day."

The paladin didn't so much as glance towards the so-called "madman", instead continuing to hover over her, asking if she needed anything, is she was in pain, anything he could do to help. It was positively nauseating.

"You know where to find me, tactician," Gangrel said over his shoulder as he exited. "I'll leave you two alone. After all, I know when I'm not needed."

_ Or wanted_, he added in his mind, noting that Stahl had taken his place by the bed already.

Nisha looked ready to protest, but Stahl drew her attention away again. The Mad King felt a stab of rage, and stalked outside the tent.

_Someday, boy_, he vowed, _someday you'll go too far, you'll say the wrong thing, and when that day comes...not even Naga herself will be able to halt my wrath._

* * *

_I shamelessly love writing Nisha/Gangrel back-and-forth sarcasm. Unfortunately, this time Stahl had to butt in and ruin my moment. :P_

_This is Dem0nLight, wishing y'all a happy Memorial Day!_


	7. Nightmares

_A/N: Don't have a lot to say today..._

_As always, much love and thanks to the reviewers! WinterVines, Akage987, Anon and Guest! Kudos for constructive criticism and encouragement!_

_As always, Enjoy! :D_

_Note: __This chapter was written while Peter Hollen's a capella covers of The Hobbit played. His covers of Into the West and I See Fire helped me set the tone for the second half of the chapter. Feel free to listen to the music as you read!_

* * *

Gangrel was curled up in the dark, ignoring the pleas of a blonde angel to come out. He was afraid, afraid of the light the angel brought, the light that wreathed her face, making it impossible for him to see her face. She begged him in Emmeryn's voice to come out, come with her. His answer was always the same.

"I'm not coming," he said. "You can't make me."

But no matter how many times he said no, she kept pressing him. Finally, his irritation won out over his fear.

"Alright! Fine! Gods..."

Slowly, he crawled out of the dark space, closing his eyes against the bright light. He felt a hand take his own and help him stand. After a long moment, Gangrel forced open his eyes.

Emmeryn stood before him, smiling gently, holding his hand between both of hers. They were alone in a field. Gangrel looked around, but the bright sunlight made him dizzy and feel sick. He fell back into the grass, holding his head in his hands, willing the world to stop spinning. He felt a gentle touch on his shoulders and instinctively shoved the person away. Something sticky and warm spread over his hands and Gangrel squinted his eyes open to see what it was.

The familiar crimson shade of fresh blood glistened on his hands.

The Mad King released a strangled yelp and tried to rid himself of the bright liquid, only to see that more was pouring on him. He wondered where it could be coming from. Then he looked up and saw Emmeryn.

Her face was calm and beautiful as always, but thick blood welled from a large puncture wound in her stomach. As she paled from the blood loss, Gangrel suddenly realized that _he_ had been the one to give her those wounds. She was dying because of him.

"No!" Gangrel screamed, jolting to his feet in a panic. "No no no no NO!"

"Monster!" someone screamed behind him. The red-haired man whirled around and saw the Shepherds had gathered behind him. As one, they all unsheathed their weapons.

Gangrel did the one thing that made sense to him: he ran. His chances of escape were slim, but it was _something_ at least. He heard pursuit and ran faster, pushing himself harder than he'd ever dared to.

The firm dirt of the field gave way to soft, slippery mud, and the Mad King landed face-first in the cold waters of a spring. He rose to his hands and knees, coughing and sputtering. As he struggled to regain his breath, Gangrel looked into the water, and cried out when he saw his reflection.

Only his eyes were unchanged, the same viridian shade as ever. But the rest of him was covered in thick fur, two twisted horns rising from his forehead, fangs jutting from overlarge jaws, and long claws extending from the tips of his fingers.

"There he is!"

The cry snapped Gangrel out of his horror long enough so that he could begin running again. The sodden fur slowed him down and he heard hoofbeats drawing ever nearer. Pain lanced through his side and he stumbled, landing heavily on his side and skidding a few feet before the wild run was brought to a sudden halt.

Groaning in pain, Gangrel rose to all fours, watching terrified as he saw Stahl dismounting from his white horse, drawing his blade. The Plegian tried to speak, to beg for his life, but only a faint whimper escaped his throat. Desperate, he looked for someone, anyone who would help, but he was alone. Alone with someone who very much wanted to kill him.

Stahl raised his sword, steel flashing in the sunlight. Gangrel watched the blade descend, helpless to stop it, unable to contain the paralyzing panic that rushed through his body.

The icy metal burned as it cut into his flesh.

* * *

The silent night was broken as Gangrel jolted awake, covered in cold sweat. He felt trapped, smothered, and struggled to free himself from the blankets tangled around him. He finally kicked free of the fabric and dashed out of the tent, running like his life depended on it.

He did not slow until he was free of the campsite, dropping to his knees in exhaustion. The panic of the nightmare still gripped him, and being in camp made him feel caged and vulnerable. Out here, among the trees with no light but the moon, he felt safer.

Gangrel struggled to slow his breathing, shivering as a breeze picked up. One moment, he'd thought himself to be in blinding sunlight, and upon waking had been plunged into darkness. Part of him knew that the vision had only been in his mind, and that there was no real danger, but it had felt so _real_...

The Mad King jolted to his feet when he heard footsteps. He whirled to see who it was, cursing himself for his defenselessness.

As the figure stepped into a shaft of moonlight, Gangrel felt himself immediately relax. Nisha. He was safe.

She appeared to have only just awoken herself: her hair was loose and tumbled around her shoulders in a messy tangle, she wore a loose tunic and breeches, and her cloak and boots looked as if she'd pulled them on at the last minute. The tactician stepped closer, her brow furrowed in concern.

"Gangrel?" she said softly, as if afraid to spook him. "Are you alright? I heard you leaving the camp and got worried."

The Plegian man turned away slightly, not trusting himself to answer. Nisha reached out her hand and touched his arm lightly.

"Do you want to go back?" she asked. Gangrel shook his head, still unable to dispel the haunted feeling that accompanied the thought of the Ylissean League. He shuddered as the wind picked up again, chilling his sweat-covered body. Nisha nodded and began to pile sticks on a clear patch of ground. Gangrel wondered what she was doing until she pulled out a fire tome and ignited the wood, creating a miniature campfire.

_Clever girl_, he thought to himself as he felt warmth rush over him. He sat by the flames, watching them intently. Nisha joined him on the ground, seating herself next to him. There was silence between them, filled by the crackling of fire and the gentle wind. Finally, the dark-haired woman dared to speak.

"Was it a nightmare?" she asked. Hating himself for it, Gangrel nodded once, not daring to look at her. She sighed lightly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Showing weakness before a Ylissean was bad enough, but the Mad King felt genuine shame revealing his nighttime terrors to the only person who-Ylissean or not-was willing to help and listen; it made him feel weak. He didn't want to be weak. Especially in front of her.

Nisha seemed to understand, because she didn't press him. Instead, she scooted closer.

"Was it about us?" she asked. Gangrel knew that she meant the Shepherds. He watched the flames, but did not answer. His silence, however, only gave the young tactician the information she had sought.

"Are we still your enemies? The Shepherds?"

The question surprised him. Were they? If his nightmare had anything to say about it, they certainly were. But then again, he would still be a slave to the Dread Pirates if they hadn't come along. Or dead.

"I try not to think about it," he answered honestly. "In my mind, anyone who's trying to kill me is the enemy. I don't feel the need to classify beyond that."

Nisha hummed to herself as she processed the information, asking another question as soon as she was done.

"When I tell you that I don't want you to die, do you believe me?"

"I have no doubts about it," he said flatly, before he asked a question of his own. "But how far would you really go for me-your old enemy?"

"I will die for you if need be."

Gangrel turned to stare at her, unsure of what he had just heard.

"What?"

"I would die for you," she repeated without hesitation. She looked him straight in the eye as she said it, and he could see her certainty. He couldn't believe it.

"Am I worth your life?" he asked quietly. "Even after everything I've done?"

"Yes," she replied, her voice soft but firm.

Her dark eyes reflected the campfire, a dancing orange light. The flames gave her gaze a strange power, giving her an unearthly aura. Gangrel found himself frozen, staring at the fire dancing in her nearly black irises, unable to tear his eyes away. She did not seem uncomfortable about his staring, holding his gaze evenly, allowing herself a small smile.

The silence between them was long, but not at all awkward. Even after Nisha turned away to feed the flames, Gangrel studied her, his eyes roving her profile. Why was he in such awe, he wondered. He saw her every day, and she always looked the same; so what was so fascinating that he couldn't stop looking?

Eventually, the small blaze faded into embers and the young tactician stood, offering the Mad King her hand. He took it and stood.

"You ready to go back now?" she asked gently, not releasing his hand. Standing there with her, he did finally feel ready, and he nodded. Nisha released him and turned back towards the camp, walking calmly through the shadowy forest. Gangrel followed, wincing as the rough ground scraped the bare soles of his feet. The wind blew around him, but a chill no longer pierced through his thin black shirt. It was as if he were wrapped in a blanket of warmth that nothing could pierce.

It took him some time to recognize what he felt; it had been years since this sensation had last touched him, and he was surprised that it had come now. There was no reason for him to feel this way, yet he did.

For the first time in over a decade, he felt completely safe. There was a world of things he could be worried about, things he should be afraid of, but somehow, he just...wasn't.

And he wondered why.

* * *

_A/N: And so the plot begins to thicken! I really had no idea how I was going to end this chapter, so I just kinda...ended it. (Because if I didn't, we could've been here for another 2000 words)_

_I decided to take a one-chapter break from the Stahl/Gangrel/Nisha triangle, but next time there will be more of that drama! If anyone has any ideas about that, feel free to PM me (cuz my ideas are focused on bears for some __reason...)_

_Until next time, review! Love ya!_


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